


The Wedding Date

by howlatthemoony



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Getting Back Together, Internalized Homophobia, Jealous Sirius Black, M/M, Nonbinary Nymphadora Tonks, Past Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks, Post-Break Up, Romantic Comedy, Weddings, with some angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:41:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29686191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howlatthemoony/pseuds/howlatthemoony
Summary: “How is it that we’re currently en route to my hometown to attend my childhood friends' wedding, where you’re going to pretend to date me so my ex-boyfriend—who also happens to the best man—will leave me alone, and you’re still giving me a lecture on what’s romantic? This is a literal, rom-com scenario. But sure, if you'd like to tell everyone we worked part-time at rival bookshops or that you fell in love while writing a think-piece on me for our uni’s newsletter, go ahead.”ORRemus needs a date to James & Lily's wedding, Tonks gets to live out their rom-com fantasy, and Sirius Black is having a very bad week.
Relationships: Remus Lupin & Nymphadora Tonks, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 43
Kudos: 102





	1. Chapter 1

Remus’ first kiss was with Mya Singh at thirteen years old. It was wet and messy and tasted like her lip gloss—green apple, Remus remembered, because he would think about it and blush whenever his Mum slipped one into his lunch bag for months. He remembered the way Mya giggled nervously when their teeth clacked together or when he missed her mouth entirely. He remembered how he couldn’t really see her face in that dark, empty theatre, lit only by the dim screen of the summer horror flick neither of them planned on watching, but he could feel the strands of soft, silky hair graze his neck every time she leaned in and her eyelashes flutter across his cheek and his heart pound against his ribcage so loud he was sure she would hear it and pull away to ask if he was okay.

It wasn’t a good kiss exactly, but it was a good first one, and Remus would be appropriately heartbroken for three whole days when she and her family moved away a month later, before hyperfixating on someone else like you were supposed to when you were his age.

More than that though, he remembered joining his friends outside the cinema, where they leaned dutifully against the wall, looking only a little bummed to be missing the movie they paid for. But that was the burden of friendship: blowing eight quid on a film you knew you wouldn’t get to see, so your mate could snog uninterrupted without garnering parental suspicion. Remus had done it plenty of times himself.

“Well?” James asked, already grinning like mad. “How was it?”

Peter looked Remus over skeptically. “You did do it, right? You didn’t chicken out like last time?”

“’Course he did,” said Sirius. “Look at his face.” He pinched Remus’ cheek. “Our little Moony’s finally all grown up. You know, I was starting to worry one of us would have to do the job ourselves.”

Peter made a face. James choked on laughter.

Remus shook Sirius off, cheeks flushed. “Sorry I don’t snog anything with a heartbeat.”

“Like that’s even a requirement,” Peter said with an eye roll.

“Aw, Pete,” Sirius teased. “Don’t be jealous of those other birds. You know you’re my favorite.”

Behind him, Mya’s friends Lily and Marlene were giving her the same treatment, their heads lowered in quiet conversation, eyes flitting over to the boys every once in a while before laughing and looking away.

James sighed. His face drifted off into that stupid, dopey-eyed, dreamy expression, the one Remus would years later simply dub his Lily Look.

“One day,” James said. “It’ll be you lot out here and me in there with Evans.”

It sounded more like a promise than a daydream.

Sirius snorted. “Not bloody likely, Prongs. You’d have to get her to sit in the same room as you first, and we know that’s never happening.”

* * *

Remus stared down at the invitation in his hands, reading the words over and over.

 _Miss Lily J. Evans & Mr. James F. Potter cordially invite you…_ _to share in the happiness of their blessed union._

His heart stuttered for the umpteenth time on _Please RSVP by_ …

James and Lily were getting married. That, in itself, was not a surprise. Throughout their courtship, James was very vocal with his intentions, and Lily had always been a little too impassioned for someone who so often claimed she was not the slightest bit interested in them.

What did surprise Remus was the invitation to celebrate said marriage in his mailbox, with his name and address written on the envelope, when he knew for fact he had not given it to either of them. He flipped it over, studying the slight angle to the Ts and the sloppy curve of the Ss. It’d been six long years, but even today, Remus could recognize James’ handwriting anywhere.

“Whatcha got there?” Tonks asked, sidling up beside him and peaking over his shoulder.

Remus jumped. He hadn’t heard them come in—not the horrifically loud jangle of keys struggling against their near-broken lock; or the heavy thud of Tonks’ worn combat boots on the cheap linoleum; or the door slamming open and closed with more force than necessary, as Tonks usually did after a long day working a double-shift at the nearby café. Such was the daily grind of a poor grad student.

“Nothing,” Remus said, stuffing the letter into his pocket.

“Nothing?” Tonks parroted, with a look of only mild curiosity. Remus knew better.

“Uh huh,” he said and took a careful step back. Tonks’ eyes narrowed.

Tonks lunged for him, flinging their arms and legs out and gripping onto him tight. Remus grunted. For someone so petite, Tonks was disturbingly heavy. Perhaps it was the steel-toed boots or sheer willpower alone.

He tried to shove Tonks off, but they just held on, legs squeezing the blood out of his thighs, dangling from him like a toddler. His vision was a blur of magenta hair, and he nearly sent them tumbling into the kitchen counter as a hand worked its way into his trouser pocket.

“Oy!” Remus said, smacking the wandering hand. “Watch it.”

Tonks huffed and continued to dig around. “Oh come off it. Like there’s anything there I haven’t touched before—Aha!” Tonks pulled out the invitation, waving it wildly around in victory. Remus tried to snatch it back, but Tonks just stiff-armed him and clutched the letter protectively to their chest.

Remus sighed. If there was anything he’d learned from his five-year friendship with Tonks, it was when to give up. “I am two seconds from dropping you headfirst onto the granite countertop. I hope you know that.”

“C’mon,” Tonks said. “I know you’re stronger than that.”

“I didn’t say it’d be an accident.”

Tonks let out a startled laugh. “You’re demented.”

“Maybe,” Remus agreed, but it did the trick. Tonks released him and hopped down, already pouring over the thick, ivory cardstock.

“A wedding invitation?” Tonks’ nose crinkled. “Gross. Do we know anyone adult enough to get married? What are we, forty?”

Remus shook his head. “Look at the names.”

“Oh,” said Tonks.

“Yeah,” said Remus.

“So…” Tonks set the invitation down, watching him warily. Remus resisted the urge to shrink under the scrutiny. “You gonna go?”

“You think I should?”

Tonks bit their lip. “I think you were friends for a very long time—”

“So that’s a yes then.”

“ _And_ that you might regret it if you don’t. Maybe not right now but later.”

Remus swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. That made sense. Of course it did, especially considering the trouble James no doubt went through to even send the invite. He must’ve tracked down Lyall Lupin’s new home phone number and endured a two hour-long conversation about werewolf mythology or whatever research binge his father was on this week for his latest novel. He must’ve asked after Hope, because James was polite like that, and Lyall would’ve told him the truth, because Remus’ father was nothing if not honest.

“But,” Tonks continued. “I think if James is really your friend, he’ll understand if you don’t.”

Remus scoffed. “No, he won’t. James couldn’t hold a grudge to save his life.”

Especially one against his friends, Remus didn’t say. He stared down at his hands, stomach in knots, and tried to keep that familiar train of thought from spilling out from where he’d meticulously tucked it away. The one that said: _that’s because James was a good friend_ and _a good friend would just move on already_ and _it’s been six years, how pathetic can you be?_

Fingers threaded through his. There was cracked purple nail polish on the thumbnail. Remus smiled, despite himself.

“Remus,” Tonks said, voice gentle. “It’s okay if you’re still upset. It’d be okay if you still were ten years from now. Nobody gets to decide how you feel except you.”

“That’s the problem,” he told them. “I don’t want to feel this way in ten years. I want to move on, and I want to see my friends get married and not be weird about it, and honestly, I’m afraid if I don’t go now, I never will.” Remus rubbed his forehead with his free hand and laughed shakily. “God, that sounds so dramatic.”

“Well, you do live with me,” Tonks replied. “It was bound to rub off eventually.”

Remus didn’t bother hiding his grin. Tonks would be able to tell anyways, which would be frightening, if it were any other person, but not Tonks. Remus didn’t need to hide himself from Tonks.

“Among other things,” Tonks added and dropped his hand, scooting back to lift themself up onto the counter with an exaggerated leer.

“This is the second time you’ve brought up our short-lived sexual history in the span of ten minutes,” Remus said. “What gives?”

“Would we say short-lived or fleeting, like time? Ephemeral? Gone but certainly not forgotten?”

Remus knew an attempt at distraction when he saw one, but he played along anyway. He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “How about… impressively volatile and a danger to society as we know it?”

Tonks pouted. “I’m starting to get the impression you don’t really like me.”

“Just the impression?” mused Remus. “I’ll have to try harder then.”

The thing is—Remus was not joking. Their _fleeting_ affair had been one of unprecedented chaos. Screaming matches that devolved into furiously fucking their way through every room in the flat. Desperate phone calls at three in the morning, begging the other to come home after one of them spent four days on an angry bender, couch-surfing and ignoring their texts. Sobbing in a bathtub, drunk out their minds after they’d broken up for what they figured was the last time, and then immediately getting back together following a particularly raucous round of makeup-sex. It’d gone on for four and a half months, and their landlord had threatened to evict them twice, but their friendship had come out stronger, somehow, and they’d been even more inseparable ever since.

“I’m worried,” Remus said, “that if I see him, it’ll be like it was before. That I’ll be eighteen again and heartbroken with no idea what to do with myself, and everyone will know, just by looking at me, that I—”

“Stop,” Tonks ordered, slapping a hand over his mouth. “That’s not gonna happen. Wanna know why?” They ticked the reasons off on their fingers. “One, you’re not eighteen anymore. You’re twenty-four. You share a moderately-sized flat with a wonderful roommate and work a stable job nobly educating this country’s next generation of barristers and Instagram influencers—which is incredibly sexy, by the way, if you’re into the geeky, librarian sort. Two, and most importantly, I’m coming with you.”

Remus pulled their hand off his mouth. “You are?”

Tonks leaned in closer, so Remus had no choice but stare directly into their stern gaze. “You bet your fit little arse I am. There’s no way he’ll bother you when I’m around. I don’t care if you have to tell him we’re fucking or dating or engaged for the fifth time. Whatever works. And it will work. I’m very intimidating, you know.”

Remus did know. Intimately. “You’d do that for me?” he asked. To his embarrassment, his eyes felt a little wet.

Tonks flicked his forehead. “Don’t ask stupid questions. I’d do more, if you’d let me. No one would ever find the body.”

Remus laughed. “Okay, but if you’re coming, you have to promise to tone down the homicidal urges. James and Sirius have been best friends since nursery school, and there’s no way he’s not James’ best man. Which means you have to play nice.”

“What I don’t understand is how that wanker could be anyone’s best anything,” Tonks said, missing the point entirely.

“He’s not a wanker. He’s just—”

Tonks fixed him with an unimpressed look. “Are we talking about the same bloke? The one who cheated on you then outed you to all your friends? Hate to break it to you, mate, but that’s textbook-wanker.”

Remus winced, even at the mention. “That’s not… exactly what happened.”

“Fine,” Tonks said in a way that implied it wasn’t. “I’ll be on my best behavior, Mr. Lupin, promise. Tell you what—I won’t even spit in his face when he shakes my hand.”

“Didn’t realize that was on the table but thanks,” Remus said and tried not to panic at the mental image. He was beginning to feel like this was all one big, horrible mistake.

“Perfect,” said Tonks. “You gonna make it official now or what?”

A pointed look at the invitation. Oh. Right. Tonks pulled a pen from their pocket, decorated with the café’s tiny green logo, and handed it to Remus. Remus clicked it and stared down at the two small boxes at the bottom of the cardstock.

_Yes, I will be attending._

_Yes, I will be bringing a plus one._

At his silence, Tonks reminded him, “You don’t have to do any of this, if you don’t want to, remember? If your friends ask, you can tell them I accidentally tossed it in the bin or our mail slot was too full. Or to bugger off, even. It’s your decision, Remus.”

“I want to go,” Remus said. It felt more like he was convincing himself than Tonks. “I’m going.”

He checked the two boxes and stuffed the invitation in its return envelope, sealing it before he lost his courage.

“There.” Tonks plucked it from his hand with a soft smile. “That wasn’t too bad, was it?”

“No,” Remus agreed, feeling lighter already. “That wasn’t bad at all.”

* * *

Remus’ second kiss—or, at least, Remus liked to consider it his second, since it was the only other one that mattered—was much different than his first.

For one, he was seventeen and much better at it, comfortably familiar with the hushed rhythm of lips catching. He knew when to press his softly against another’s and when to push in closer, to open his mouth and let his tongue gently trace the seam of his partner’s lips. He knew to use his hands, to cup a face in his palm or slide his fingers through hair or run his hands down the warm planes of an arched back and settle low but respectfully on its waist, unless encouraged otherwise.

But he had never kissed a boy before, and he had never, not in a million years, expected to kiss Sirius Black.

Sirius didn’t taste like green apple. He tasted like the cherry vodka he’d nicked from his parents’ cupboard and snuck over in his school bag. His lips were dry and slightly chapped, and he’d missed a tiny patch of stubble on his jaw while shaving that morning.

But his hair was long and soft—that part at least was the same—and he’d gasped when Remus tangled his fingers through it and let Remus kiss the shape of his name off Sirius’ mouth. His skin burned against Remus’. Even through both layers of their shirts, Remus could feel Sirius’ intoxicating heat beneath his palms.

They were just on the right side of pleasantly tipsy, and later Remus would wonder if Sirius had planned this. If he had known he wouldn’t be brave enough to do this sober, or if it’d been a spur of the moment thing. If Sirius had just looked over at Remus and suddenly wanted.

For Remus, it had been a bit of both. He wasn’t blind. He knew how Sirius looked, and he knew how he felt when he looked at him, though that part had taken awhile. But knowing and doing something about it were two very different creatures. Especially since he’d had no idea, wouldn’t have imagined even in his most vivid fantasies, that Sirius might feel the same. But then Sirius had kissed him.

They’d been sitting on Remus’ bed, passing the vodka bottle back and forth. His parents weren’t home, out on their monthly date night. His friends had originally planned a movie marathon, but James and Peter couldn’t make it. Peter’s family had come down with the flu, and James bailed at the last minute after summoning whatever occult forces it’d taken to convince Lily Evans to help him with their English assignment. So it was just Remus and Sirius alone in his bedroom, drinking and listening to the vaguely sexual playlist Sirius had jokingly selected on Spotify.

Remus didn’t remember what they’d talked about, thoughts blurring at the edges and head fuzzy. All he knows is that one second he’d been talking, Sirius watching him with that lazy grin, and the next Sirius was leaning forward and kissing him.

Remus barely had time to register the kiss—the feel of it, how it had even happened—before Sirius pulled back, eyes blown wide.

“Oh,” Sirius breathed.

Remus’ lips tingled. He brought a hand up to touch them, and Sirius’ gaze flickered down, just for a moment, to watch.

As the silence stretched on, Sirius seemed to regain some coherence, the drunken haze clearing. He straightened, shoulders tensed.

“Oh,” he said again. “Oh _shit_.”

Remus stared as Sirius stood and stumbled back into his desk, knocking over a penholder and a stack of paperbacks. He ran a trembling hand through his dark hair.

“Shit. Sorry. I don’t know why I—Fuck. You can’t tell anyone, Remus. Please don’t—Shit. _Shit_.”

“I won’t,” Remus promised, desperate to please. “I won’t tell anyone, Pads. It’s okay.”

He was already running through a mental list of excuses on Sirius’ behalf. Anything to get him to stop looking at Remus like that—like he was something to fear. They were drunk. It was just a kiss. Sirius had kissed plenty of girls before and claimed it meant nothing. Why should one measly kiss with Remus be any different?

Sirius regarded him with cautious relief. “You won’t?”

“Never,” Remus said. “Not if you don’t want me to.”

He meant it with everything he had. He would not betray Sirius’ trust.

Sirius let out a shaky breath. “Okay.” He seemed to mull something over. “Is it because you’re also…?”

Remus’ brow furrowed. “Also…?”

Sirius blushed and looked away. _Oh_.

“Uh.” Remus scratched the back of his neck. “Maybe? I dunno. I like girls.”

Now Remus felt himself blushing, too. _I like girls?_ Apparently the alcohol had killed his last brain cell.

“Right,” Sirius said with a grimace. “Right, sorry.”

“But I could like boys too!” Remus said in a rush. “I mean, I do. I think. That’s a thing. That people feel.”

Sirius nodded. “It is.”

They stared at each other for a moment.

“Do you wanna—”

“Should we—”

They paused again. Remus’ palms were sweating. He wiped them on his jeans, feeling strangely breathless, like all the air had been sucked out the room.

“What were you gonna say?” Remus asked.

Sirius shook his head. “You first.”

Remus frowned down at the carpet. He worried his thumb over a tiny tear in the knee of his trousers. “I was thinking… maybe you should try what you did again? Maybe I won’t react the way you thought I would.”

He didn’t dare meet Sirius’ gaze as he suggested it. But he heard Sirius inhale sharply, and hoped that was a good sign.

Sirius’ footsteps were quiet as he crossed the room, so quiet Remus might not have noticed them, were it not for the pair of socked feet that came to a halt inches from Remus’ own.

“I should have asked,” Sirius said, “the first time.” Then, “Can I?”

Remus looked up so quickly his head spun. Sirius stood over him, watching him intently.

“Can I kiss you, Remus?”

“Yes,” Remus said, without blinking. “Yes. _Sirius_.”

Sirius’ eyes didn’t leave his as he knelt on the mattress, bracketing Remus’ hips between his knees. He was taller than Remus like this, so he raised a hand to Remus’ jaw and tipped his head back, while Remus held his breath and kept his arms patiently at his sides, afraid even the smallest of movements would startle Sirius into changing his mind.

But then Sirius dragged the pad of his thumb down Remus’ bottom lip and licked his own, and Remus was lost to the roiling gray of Sirius’ eyes and his soft, pink mouth. He lurched upwards, winding a hand around the back of Sirius’s neck and tugging him down into his lap, until they were pressed against each other everywhere, and Sirius was moaning into his mouth. If this was the only time they were doing this, Remus was sure as hell going to make the most of it, even if tomorrow they pretended it never happened and that it had meant nothing.

He’d be wrong, of course. It wasn’t the only time, and it didn’t take a genius to see it meant something, whether or not Sirius was willing to admit it. And maybe that’s why Sirius had reacted the way he did, all those years ago—because kissing Remus was never like kissing those other girls.

But none of that mattered, not in the end. And when he looked back on the memory, Remus would realize his mistake. What he’d been too distracted to notice before.

While Remus had promised to carry Sirius’ secret to the grave, Sirius had offered nothing in return.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I just wanted to thank everyone who took the time to read, comment, bookmark, and leave kudos. This is just a silly little thing I'm doing for fun, but it really means a lot to hear from you guys. :)
> 
> Also, in case it wasn't obvious, I am not British. I'm doing my best, but fair warning: I'm just going to avoid general geography and will definitely get some slang and such wrong.
> 
> Chapter Warnings: very very brief mention of underage sex (but nothing remotely explicit)

“Walk me through this one more time,” Tonks said, propping their bare feet up on the dash and munching on a handful of crisps. From the driver’s seat, Remus cringed at the pile of crumbs accumulating on the rental car’s floorboard.

“What’s there to walk through?” Remus kept his eyes on the empty, winding road as he asked. “We’re basically telling the truth. We met in uni. We got an apartment together after we graduated. Friends for five years, seeing each other for four. We’re happy, even though it drives me mental when you eat crisps like that.”

Tonks looked affronted. “Like what?”

“Like that.” Remus gestured unhelpfully. “Where you just stuff them all into your mouth in one go. Why can’t you eat one at a time like a normal person?”

“Oh, a normal person,” Tonks said through a mouthful. “You want me to eat them like a normal person. Right then. Let’s see. How would a normal person eat them?”

They drew one from the bag, pinched between two fingers, and gave it a delicate sniff, like it was fine wine, then popped it into their mouth. Tonks chewed thoughtfully. Swallowed.

“Wow,” Tonks deadpanned. “It’s like I can taste every molecule. Salt, potato…” They squinted at the label, “Maltodextrin.”

“All right, I get it,” Remus said, waving them off. “Eat your crisps however you’d like, you psycho. Dump them on the floor. Stuff them between the seat cushions. See if I care.”

Tonks pointedly shoved five in their mouth at once and continued where they’d left off. “I’m just saying our story isn’t the most romantic. Don’t you want something more, I dunno, flashy?”

Remus snorted. “I think you’re flashy enough for the both of us, thanks.”

“I’m flashy enough for all of London,” Tonks said. “My point still stands.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “How is it that we’re currently en route to my hometown to attend my childhood friends’ wedding, where you’re going to pretend to date me so my ex-boyfriend—who also happens to the best man—will leave me alone, and you’re still giving me a lecture on what’s romantic? This is a literal rom-com scenario. But sure, if you’d like to tell everyone we worked part-time at rival bookshops or that you fell in love while writing a think-piece on me for our uni’s newsletter, go ahead.”

“Just so we’re clear, if anyone’s having a think-piece written about them, it’s me,” Tonks said. “But fine, truth it is. We met in a lecture hall, were friends for practically forever before you worked up the nerve to let me kiss you, and sometimes you cry when you—”

“Maybe a little less honesty,” Remus amended. Tonks cackled.

Personally, he found the real story charming—maybe even romantic, if things had gone differently. They’d met second year in a course on queer literature. It was Remus’ first time taking anything like that, and he’d lied awake for hours the night before, staring up at the ceiling and convincing himself, no, people would not immediately assume he was queer just for showing up, and even if they did, it wouldn’t be the worst thing, given they weren’t exactly wrong. He’d selected a seat in the very middle row, far enough away that hopefully the professor wouldn’t remember his face if he panicked and decided to drop the course, but close enough he didn’t look like he was hiding.

Remus was tired of hiding.

And then, as if they’d heard Remus’ thoughts and knew just what he needed, Tonks plopped down into the seat beside him, two minutes late to the lecture, a mess of bright purple hair, and leaned over to whisper, “Sorry, is this Animal Husbandry or is that next door?”

Remus had laughed so loud their professor paused mid-sentence, several heads whipping around to glare, and all that time he’d spent methodically selecting the perfect, most innocuous seat hadn’t really made a difference after all.

Remus wanted to die on the spot.

But he didn’t drop the class, and though he refused to acknowledge Tonks again for a week, the freeze-out didn’t last long. Tonks was not an easy person to ignore. Between the study dates and Tonks’ ridiculously detailed note-taking and the weekly, bizarrely themed parties Tonks always seemed to have an invitation to, they’d made it up to him eventually.

As someone who’d had the same group of friends for eight years, Remus had struggled to find new ones. First year had been a nightmare of adjusting to the denser course load, settling into the dormitories with a roommate who was almost never home and pretending he didn’t miss his parents like aching, dodging James and Peter and Lily’s phone calls and ignoring their texts begging him to unblock Sirius’ number. There had hardly been time, and he’d worried second year would follow the same routine.

And yet, here was Tonks—the first friend, in a long time, he’d made entirely on his own.

So yes, Remus was quite proud of the real story, and even if he was going to lie directly to James and Lily’s faces, he’d rather not lie about that.

“Why are you smiling like that?”

Remus smiled wider. “Would you believe me if I said it’s because of you?”

“Ew,” Tonks said, but Remus could hear a smile in their voice too.

“Thank you again for doing for this,” he said.

He’d been doing that a lot lately. At first Tonks had laughed and preened, but after the second week of nonstop thank yous, the gratitude had gone stale, and Tonks had begun to recognize it for what it really was—a question. _Are you sure you want to do this? Are you sure I’m worth doing it?_

“Thank me one more time, and I’ll fling myself out the car window,” Tonks warned.

They passed an old yellow church stood alone in a field of tall, green grass. They were getting closer, maybe an hour away, two tops.

Remus had booked them four days at the local and only bed and breakfast. It was late July, so Remus was on holiday, and Tonks was more than happy to take a couple extra days off work. He hoped if he got the chance to show them around a bit and revisit his favorite haunts, it might help remind him why he’d come in the first place. For eight years, this had been Remus’ home. He’d made his first real friends here, had his first kiss here, and spent some of his mum’s final years here. And nothing—not even Sirius Black—could take any of that away from him.

“It’s strange that you’re not a terrible driver,” Tonks told him. “You stay on the road and everything.”

“That’s ‘cause Mum taught me how to drive. Dad’s miserable at it.”

Tonks hummed. “Is it weird to be back here without them?”

“Not really,” Remus said, shrugging. “Although Mum would’ve traded her left arm to see Lily Evans in a wedding dress and James Potter waiting at the end of the aisle.”

James was a proper suck-up. Parents loved him. Peter’s parents loved him. Remus’ parents loved him. Lily’s parents had loved him even when she hated him. Even Sirius’ parents, Walburga and Orion—who, based off their names alone, were about as unpleasant as you’d expect—had not escaped James’ charm. For years, no one was allowed to stay over at Sirius’ house except James, and towards the end, they’d taken even that privilege away, right around the time Sirius had started mentioning taking a gap year before university to travel or just skipping the university part altogether.

There were worse things Sirius’ parents had done. Ones Remus’ friends never talked about because Sirius never wanted to talk about them. Nothing physical, at least that Remus knew of. But Remus had remembered the look of horror on Sirius’ face the night they’d kissed and then later, when James had—

It was the look of someone who knew they could lose everything with just one wrong move, and that was damning enough.

“Well, it hasn’t happened yet,” Tonks said. “You know how nutso people get about weddings. Maybe there won’t be anything for her to miss.”

“So I didn’t think I needed to mention this before,” Remus joked, “but please don’t sabotage James and Lily’s wedding.”

Tonks peered out the window, where a couple of brown cows clustered together near the fence line.

“Why would I need to do that? People sabotage things just fine on their own.”

* * *

They didn’t tell anyone about that night or the many that followed.

And for a while, nothing changed. Most evenings were still spent the four of them, at the Potters or the cinema or loitering outside the ice cream parlor Lily and her friend Marlene frequented. Sirius didn’t treat Remus any differently, when they were all together. He was handsy in that brusque, casual way he’d always been: a lazy arm thrown around Remus’ shoulder; a hand mussing Remus’ curls; a cheeky pinch of his arse, though that one now made Remus go quiet and break into a nervous sweat instead of his usual scowl.

But some nights, Sirius would text the group chat that he wasn’t feeling well or that he was slammed with homework or that he’d been grounded for the hundredth time, and James—loyal to a fault—would call off their evening plans in solidarity. Half an hour later would find Sirius on Remus’ porch, greeting his unsuspecting parents with an innocent hello before Remus was dragging him up the stairs to his bedroom and locking the door.

Those nights were Remus’ favorite.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like spending time with James and Peter. He loved it. He loved them. But Sirius… It was like an addiction. In the span of a single night, Remus had gone from a distant, longing thing to complete and utter obsession.

When they were alone, Sirius was another person entirely. Smiling shyly, kissing Remus so sweetly his head spun, whispering praise into Remus’ ear like he would never run out of things to say.

He liked Remus’ curls and the way they bounced when he dragged his fingers through them. He liked how the fine layer of hair on Remus’ arms would rise when Sirius touched him and his skin would tingle with goose bumps. He liked his large hands and slightly crooked middle finger that had healed wrong after he’d broken it at eight, his knobby knees and ugly toes, his lips when they parted around a stuttered breath, his pulse as it jumped beneath Sirius’ mouth, his fluttering lashes when Sirius took him in his hand.

Remus had never felt like this before. Had never known this was even a way someone could feel. And from the way Sirius always looked at him afterwards—eyes wide and dazed, chest heaving—Remus knew he was not alone in the feeling.

It went on for months, through Sirius’ eighteenth birthday and Christmas and the New Year. And if Peter or James thought it was strange Sirius hadn’t mentioned his latest conquest in practically forever, they didn’t let on. James was distracted with his own love life, after all, or more accurately his lack thereof. The deadline for his eleven-year-old promise to get Lily Evans to go on a date with him was quickly approaching, and Remus could tell from his constant state of lovesick misery, it was more than the failure that was getting to him. And Peter… well, Peter was just trying to graduate on time.

As time passed, however, Remus noted little changes in Sirius’ behavior. Nothing crazy, just small things, as Sirius settled into their not-relationship and seemed to embrace himself in a way he’d been too frightened to before.

Sometimes, when they ate dinner at the Potters and Sirius was sitting next to him, he’d slip his hand into Remus’ under the table or press together their thighs and intertwine their ankles. Sometimes, when they were around their friends and Remus was talking, he would feel Sirius’ eyes shamelessly glued to his mouth the entire time. Sometimes, when they were in class or studying in the library, Sirius would pass him notes—the burn-after-reading kind that made Remus’ cheeks flush red—and he’d have to hide his face in his hands when a confused James or Peter asked him what was wrong.

Remus had started passing notes back under the ruse of revenge, just to see Sirius squirm, but then the habit stuck. They wrote each other all the time. Some messages were blush-worthy, but others were harmless beyond the lilt of a private smile. _I miss you, when do I get to see you again, do you reckon Peter fancies Marlene, I think Evans just checked out James but don’t tell him, let’s see how long it takes him to notice._

The notes had been an unseen solution to Sirius’ refusal to talk about their thing outside Remus’ bedroom. They couldn’t call or text; Sirius was too afraid to use his cell for anything too incriminating. It seemed a bit dramatic to Remus, but _he_ hadn’t walked in on his parents snooping through his text threads before, so he decided to keep that opinion to himself.

Remus didn’t mind anyway. He thought the notes were romantic, not that he was going to tell Sirius that. He didn’t mind the secrets either. Remus wasn’t exactly ready to step out of the closet himself, and he figured maybe that was something they could do further down the line, together.

He thought about that last part a lot, after Sirius would leave and Remus would fall asleep with his faced pressed into his pillow, breathing in the scent of Sirius’ cologne.

He didn’t worry about university or Sirius’ gap year or what his parents would think or what James and Peter would think or how they’d never actually said how they felt about each other, not in the way people did when they were together like this, because none of that mattered right now in the safety of his head.

 _Someday_ , he would think and his heart would ache in the best kind of way. _Someday_.

* * *

“Do you want the bad news or the worse news?” Tonks asked.

Remus was leaning against the hood of the car, sweating like a pig. The summer sun beat down on them, bright and burning, and Remus had to shield his eyes against it. He could practically feel the skin on his nose peeling.

He’d just found a spot in the surprisingly bustling bed and breakfast’s car park and unloaded their bags from the trunk, when Tonks exited the building after a worryingly speedy check-in.

“Is that how that goes?” Remus asked. “I could have sworn there was supposed to be good news mixed in there somewhere.”

Tonks ignored him. “So apparently there’s some wedding going on this weekend, and they might have accidentally double-booked a few rooms.”

“Would one of those rooms happen to be under Remus J. Lupin?” Remus asked, his stomach dropping.

“And Antony Evans, who checked in two hours ago. But they did say you’d get your deposit back. Eventually.” They paused, considering that. “Guess you’re right. There was good news.”

Remus scrubbed a hand down his face. “Well, we gave it a shot. Time to go.”

He grabbed the nearest bag—a duffle—and tossed it over his shoulder, rounding the car. Tonks followed closely behind.

“Please don’t take this as me being unsupportive of whatever panicked lizard-brain response is going on right now, but I did not endure eleven minutes of conversation with the well-meaning but misguided lady at the front desk who said the words ‘what are you’ to me not once but three times, for you to bow out now.”

Tonks’ usual response to questions like that was a simple _I’m Tonks_ , though Remus’ personal favorite was _your worst nightmare_.

Remus popped open the trunk and started loading the luggage back inside.

“It’s fine,” he said. “I’ll just mail James and Lily an apology crockpot or something. An apology set of mixing bowls?”

“You don’t really need to preface those with ‘apology.’ They’re bad gifts. The apology is implied.”

He closed the trunk and swung around to the driver’s seat, retreating into the car. As Remus started the engine, the front passenger door opened and Tonks slipped inside, watching him patiently.

“They probably won’t even notice I’m not there,” Remus told himself. “That was like my thing in school. Not being noticed.”

“Remus, dear—and I say this with love—but you are the fucking tallest person I have ever met. You’re like forty percent legs, fifty percent neck, and ten percent hair. They noticed you. They might not have wanted to talk to you, but they noticed you.”

Remus reached for the gearshift, but Tonks was already holding it in park. They raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow at Remus’ irritated glare.

“Move your hand,” said Remus.

“No,” said Tonks.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Would you prefer to sit here and have another go at dissecting my appearance?”

“I never said it was bad,” Tonks clarified. “I shagged you, didn’t I? Now are we gonna have an actual productive conversation or do you still need a few more minutes to freak out?”

Exhaling slowly, Remus dropped his head to the steering wheel with a thump.

“Great idea,” commented Tonks, getting more comfortable. They kicked their feet up on the dashboard again. “Let’s just breathe and think for a moment. Consider our options.”

Remus’ eye twitched. “There are no options. There was this option. Singular.”

“This town has three thousand people in it,” Tonks said. “You aren’t honestly telling me there isn’t a single other hotel or inn or overnight escape room we can stay the night in.”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” Remus said incredulously. “I’m also telling you that this is clearly a sign of impending doom, this was a horrible idea, we absolutely need to leave right now, and in order for us to do that, you’re gonna have to move your hand.”

He looked at them expectantly. Tonks was silent for a moment, then, “What about your friends?”

Remus groaned. “I already told you. I’ll have to send them a—”

“No,” Tonks said. “ _I mean_ you have friends, right? I’m assuming they have houses.”

Remus did not like where this was going. “No.”

“No you don’t have friends or no they don’t have houses?”

“No as in I know what you’re suggesting and I’m not interested.”

“Oh come on, Remus!” Tonks said. “Why not? It’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

Remus shook his head so hard his teeth clacked together. “No. We’re here to see a thirty minute ceremony then politely bail an hour into the reception, not insert ourselves into their lives.”

“Have you ever considered that maybe they want you to insert yourself?” Tonks asked.

Remus opened his mouth to respond then promptly closed it. He hadn’t considered that, actually. Remus knew his friends wanted to see him. They’d invited him, after all. But up until this point, he’d thought that was the extent of it. They wanted to see him at the wedding, because he’d been there through the early chapters of their relationship and it seemed only right that he be there for one of the most important. They wanted to make small talk and see that he was doing okay, maybe introduce him to a couple distant relatives as an old and dear friend, and then continue to go about their lives, smiling fondly to themselves once upon a blue moon when he crossed their minds.

But that was it. That was all that was expected from him. Remus had made sure of that when he’d ignored years of invitations to come home, just for a week, or to let them come to him, until finally, one day, they just stopped asking.

If anything was going to change, if Remus wanted it to change, he was going to have to make the first move. He thought he’d done that by coming here, but maybe that wasn’t enough.

“Okay,” Remus said.

Tonks stiffened in surprise, as if they didn’t win every single argument they ever had. “Really?”

“Yes,” he said, even as his heart raced.

Remus pulled out his phone. He knew Peter would probably be the safest call. Though less frequent—relegated to about one or two a year—their conversations were the most mild, compared to his with James and Lily. How their parents were doing, how their jobs were going, who they were seeing. (Remus never volunteered that particular information, but Peter was more than happy to fill Remus’ silence with his own dalliances.)

There were never any offers or requests—not because he didn’t want to see Remus, Remus knew, even though sometimes his stupid, oversensitive brain felt like it. Peter just wasn’t like that. He was easy and he never pushed. To him, friendship was about being there however you were needed, and he knew Remus needed space, so that’s what he gave him.

So yes, he should’ve called Peter, but as he thumbed over to his contacts, Remus was suddenly overcome with a memory of a night in a bathroom, six years ago, where he’d laid his head on a warm shoulder and let a gentle hand stroke comfortingly through his sweaty hair.

The phone was ringing before he’d even realized who he was calling. Remus raised it to his ear.

They answered on the second ring.

“Remus?” said Lily, like she couldn’t quite believe it.

“Hi,” Remus said.

* * *

To put it politely, the Potters did not want for much.

Not that Remus was one to complain. The Lupins had lived comfortably off his father’s modest but steady book sales. Remus was around nine when Lyall’s first novel was just starting to take off, and they’d moved the following year, right after his tenth birthday, to a cozy, two-story house, with a small backyard, front garden, and attached two-car garage. To the little boy who’d grown accustomed to a shoebox flat, it was practically a castle.

But then he’d seen where James Potter lived. The Potter estate was massive. No matter how many rooms James showed Remus, there always seemed to be another unexplored around the corner. Which made hide and seek simultaneously exhilarating and nightmarish. One Sunday afternoon, it took them four hours to find tiny, ten-year-old Peter tucked away in the dumbwaiter, asleep. A frantic Remus and James were near tears when they’d finally pulled the oblivious, bleary-eyed boy out, while Sirius, who’d been in the middle of penning Peter’s eulogy, sulked in the corner.

Had it belonged to anyone else, a house that size might have felt vacant and lonely. But not Euphemia and Fleamont Potter’s. You could tell they loved their home. Each furnishing and fitting was selected with the utmost care, down to the small knick-knacks lining the bookshelves or the delicate silverware set out on the dining table built long enough for thirty.

So Remus had been surprised when he’d pulled up to Lily and James’ house to find it… exceptionally ordinary. It was larger than most, at least two-stories, and a little more spread out from the others on its street. There was a tiny reading nook behind eastern facing windows, with manicured leafy trees flanking the framework on both sides, and a spacious circular driveway. On the second story, French doors led out to a balcony with an outdoor bistro table and two matching chairs.

Yet Remus could see the places where James had clearly exhibited restraint. There was no gilded fountain in the center of the yard, no towering, Grecian columns.

It was nice. It looked exactly like the kind of place you could start a family, though Remus didn’t think about that part for too long. A wedding was bad enough.

The only thing that didn’t seem to fit the picture was the glossy, black motorbike parked on the edge of the driveway. Remus tried and failed to imagine Lily or James riding it without crashing to their fiery, horrific deaths.

“What the hell?” Tonks said. “You didn’t tell me they were rich! And you were gonna have us stay at some dodgy b&b.”

“I said they were posh.”

“Remus. There’s posh and there’s _posh_.”

“Well, James is the kind of posh that hates to talk about how posh he is,” Remus said. “So get it all out of your system now.”

“That’s okay. I’ll do the talking for him.”

They parked in the driveway, a safe distance away from the motorbike and what Remus assumed was Lily’s brand new sedan—a gift from James for getting into med school; Lily had complained about its exorbitance in lengthy detail on their last phone call. That was over a year ago, before James proposed.

Remus had assumed their radio silence was because Lily had started school again and James was elbows deep in some top secret charity project—the one he’d been working on for two years, now three. The one he got all flustered and quiet about every time Remus tried to bring it up. Remus would be more annoyed by that, had he not his own lengthy list of restricted subjects. Which James had learned the the hard way, after being ghosted by Remus for months for even hinting at dropping the S word.

But now Remus knew they must have been busy with all that _and_ wedding planning. No wonder they hadn’t called. Remus could barely balance his own job with his (mostly empty) social calendar.

There was a part of him that wished they’d told him though, even by text, but he figured he’d forfeited the right to be upset about things like that long ago.

Tonks must’ve sensed the sudden change in Remus’ mood, because they stuck closely to his side as they exited the car and bumped shoulders when they walked up the path to the front door.

Remus threw one last fearful look at Tonks as he raised his hand to the door. Tonks just smiled back and shrugged at him, an unspoken blend of _you’ve got this_ and _sorry, no turning back now_.

The door swung open before Remus could knock.

Lily looked almost identical to how Remus remembered her at eighteen. She was still pretty in that understated way, her face sun-kissed and freckled, more than a few flyaway strands of hair escaping from her lopsided braid. There were dark circles purpling beneath her eyes, like she hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in weeks, and her expression was a bit harried, but that was to be expected, given her pending nuptials.

“Remus,” she greeted, dimply sweetly. “It’s so good to see you.”

Her eyes widened imperceptibly when they flicked over to his right, where Tonks stood, their shoulder pressed warmly against Remus’, but she recovered quickly.

“I hope it’s okay I brought someone,” Remus said, mentally kicking himself for not mentioning that part on the phone. He’d sort of just whited-out after she’d said yes and come to twenty minutes later idling in front of the soon-to-be Potters’ lush, green yard.

Lily waved him off. “’Course it’s okay. It’s not like we haven’t got the room for it.” She grinned, offering Tonks her hand. “I’m Lily.”

“Nymphadora,” Tonks said. “But don’t call me that. I hate it.”

Lily’s polite smile did not waver as they shook hands, but Remus could tell she was dying to ask more.

“Just call them Tonks,” Remus said. “Better yet, pretend they’re not here.”

Lily laughed, ushering them inside. “Well, come in then. James is out for some final fittings on his tux, but he should be back soon. He’s going to be thrilled.”

“You didn’t tell him?” Remus asked, nearly tripping on the threshold. Lily shut the door behind them.

“Nah,” said Lily. “Figured it’d be a nice surprise. Anyway, this is it.” Lily gestured a little uncomfortably at, well, everything. “I know what you’re thinking. It’s too much, isn’t it?”

“It’s lovely,” Tonks told her. “I was just telling Remus we should get one just like it.”

Lily laughed again, instantly at ease. Tonks had that effect on people. “I can show you to your room—just the one, I’m assuming?” Remus nodded. This time, however, Lily didn’t seem surprised. “But I’ll need to make a call to the florist after and then start dinner. Otherwise, James will do it once he gets home, and I’d rather not poison you on your first night.”

“I can cook,” Remus said, jumping at the chance to make up for his sudden intrusion. He ignored Tonks’ stare searing into his profile. He, in fact, could not cook. “What are we having?”

Lily perked. “Oh, could you? I normally wouldn’t ask, but things have just been so hectic lately, and it would really help if I could—”

“Lily,” Remus interrupted, before she did something awful like apologize or thank him, and set his luggage by the front door. “I offered, didn’t I? We’re the ones crashing at yours. It’s the least we can do. Really. I know this must be… a lot.”

To his surprise, Lily huffed out a breath and swept Remus into a hug, burying her face in his jumper. Tentatively, almost like he’d forgotten how, Remus hugged back.

“Sorry,” Lily murmured, so softly only Remus could hear it. “It’s just… I missed you. So much. We all did.”

“I missed you too,” Remus said, gently resting his cheek on her hair. And it was like the tension that’d been building inside for months melted away as soon as the words left his lips. They missed him. They weren’t mad; they just _missed him_.

“Then let’s not go another six years, ay?” Lily teased and pulled away to playfully hit his shoulder. “Kitchen’s through that door there. Anything in the fridge or cupboard is free game, just stay away from the freezer. If I have to eat another Tesco burrito, the wedding’s off.”

“No frozen burritos,” Remus said. “Got it.”

With a parting smile—that was getting a little suspiciously wobbly in the corners—Lily pulled out her phone and hurried into the other room.

Remus and Tonks exchanged looks.

“Well?” asked Remus, feeling strangely jittery, like he’d just injected ten espresso shots straight into the vein.

“I’ve never seen a person smile so much,” Tonks said, not unkindly. “It’s kind of scary, actually.”

Remus laughed. “Wait till you meet James.”

* * *

The kitchen was fit with top of the line, sleek, stainless steel appliances and marble countertops, its color scheme a neutral off-white, with touches of cheery yellow in the patterned backsplash and the vase of fresh sunflowers sitting in the windowsill.

“This is getting ridiculous,” Tonks complained as Remus left the curry to simmer and washed up in the sink. They’d managed to find a recipe online they were semi-confident Remus wouldn’t fuck up too badly. Well, Remus was semi-confident. Tonks seemed dubious at best. “I could eat off this floor, Remus.”

“Maybe give James and Lily a chance to get to know you before you start taking meals on their floor.”

Remus toweled off his hands, while Tonks started perusing the spice rack. They picked one up and gave it a disbelieving shake. “This is like four hundred pounds worth of saffron… You reckon they’re looking for a third?”

Remus snorted. “Do I think James Potter and Lily Evans, who are getting married in four days, are looking to add a third person to their relationship?”

“Yes.”

“Off the top of my head, no.”

“Oh well,” Tonks said, sneaking up behind Remus and snaking their arms around his waist. “I’m far too jealous for polyamory anyway.”

“No comment,” Remus said diplomatically. Tonks hid a laugh between his shoulder blades.

Even after they’d officially ended things, Remus and Tonks never could quite stop touching. Though maybe that was Tonks’ doing, more than Remus’. Despite their prickly attitude, Tonks had always been more straightforward and generous with their affection, where Remus was shy and closed off. Tonks had a theory about that, and while Remus refused to hear it, he had a few guesses.

The touches weren’t anything sexual or romantic—just a simple hug here or there or handholding or absentminded shoulder massages—but it might sometimes look that way to other people. Remus had caught more than one of his exes glaring daggers into Tonks’ back when they thought he wasn’t looking. Not that those relationships had lasted long enough for Remus to care. He and Tonks were a package deal, and he’d decided long ago anyone who couldn’t see how great Tonks was wasn’t worth his time.

Remus had almost successfully extricated himself from Tonks’ hold when he heard the front door swing open and James’ voice echo through the foyer, growing louder as he neared the kitchen.

“Lils? What’s that car doing parked out front? Did your cousin change his mind? You should’ve told him he didn’t need a rental. He could have borrowed one of ours. And by ours, I mean yours, obviously, since mine is a bit—Remus?”

James paused in the doorway. Like Lily, he’d hardly aged a day. Sure, he’d filled out a little since Remus had last seen him, and there were wrinkles around the corners of his eyes that hadn’t been there before. But his smile was just as wide and his eyes just as bright behind his slightly crooked, wire-frame glasses.

Remus couldn’t help but grin at that. Leave it to James to buy an entire house before a new pair of glasses.

“Moony? Is that really you?” James asked, and Remus barely had the chance to nod before James was barreling into him and curling himself around Remus like an octopus. Remus laughed as they swayed and had to catch themselves on the kitchen island to keep from tumbling over, his ears ringing with James’ own laughter. Remus held on tight. It was all he could do to not sink into it.

After what felt like ages but also no time at all, James untangled himself with only minor injury and stepped back just far enough to look Remus over, still holding him by the shoulders, like he wasn’t yet ready to let go.

“You’re looking fit,” James told him, straightening out Remus’ wrinkled collar. Remus chose to ignore his tone of disbelief. “What’s that you’ve done with your hair?”

“Uh,” Remus touched his head self-consciously. “Just styled it, I guess. Trimmed it a bit on the sides.”

“Changes the whole vibe, doesn’t it?” Tonks said, tugging on one of his curls. “You do not want to know what I had to do to convince him.”

James let go of Remus and turned to Tonks, a little surprised, like he hadn’t even noticed they were there. Remus was starting to get a complex. Was it really that unbelievable someone would willingly date him? Tonks was attractive, sure, and definitely out of Remus’ league, but it wasn’t like Remus was a troll.

Although, technically, Remus guessed James and Lily’s surprise was warranted, considering his relationship was all a sham. Still, in Tonks’ words, they’d shagged him. That had to count for something.

“Sorry,” James said. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

He was smiling, but there was something strange about the way his eyes kept shifting between the two of them. If Remus didn’t know better, he’d say James looked nervous.

For a moment, Remus assumed the worst. Had Lily been wrong? Was this was too much too fast? Had Remus somehow, in a few small minutes, already overstayed his welcome?

But then the front door opened again, this time a different voice calling out, “Oi! You forgot your suit, you tosser. Just ‘cause I’m on your payroll, doesn’t mean I’m your bloody butler.”

And Remus suddenly understood the awkwardness in James’ shifty-eyed stare, and why the death-trap motorbike parked outside had seemed so uncharacteristic for James and Lily, but now seemed to fit perfectly with the image of someone else—because at James’ shoulder, two garment bags draped over his arm, was Sirius Black.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Sexual Content (Not Underage), Mentions of Illness

Remus stared.

He should say something. It didn’t matter what—anything, really. Anything to prove he wasn’t currently self-destructing at the mere sight of Sirius Black.

Remus knew this would happen eventually. Every night for the past three months, he’d stood in front of the bathroom mirror, pinching his cheeks into the perfect smile—pleasant, not too wide, with only the barest hint of teeth, a slight crinkle around the eyes—and rehearsed exactly what he would say, down to the opening _hello_ and final _goodbye_.

In his imagination, he was armored in his best (and only) suit and Tonks had spent half an hour primping his hair until he looked like another person, the kind who could waltz into a room, a champagne stem poised between two fingers, and not immediately try to become one with the wallpaper. The kind who could just go up and talk to anyone, even the boy who broke his heart.

He did not imagine this: rumpled button down and secondhand jumper and worn trousers; smelling of travel and crisps and dried sweat; with his apparently disproportionate body and only recently acceptable haircut; literally paling in comparison when stood beside someone like Tonks and their striking purple hair and palpable confidence.

And suddenly he couldn’t remember a single thing he’d wanted to say. All he could do was stare and will silent the warning bells blaring inside his head.

Sirius looked good. He looked unreasonably, painfully good. His hair was artfully tousled and pulled back into a loose bun, exposing the sharp cut of jaw and the delicate curve of neck. The thick leather of his jacket stretched out across wide shoulders and tapered at his narrow waist. His cool gray eyes, framed by stupidly thick lashes, stared directly into Remus’.

 _Shit_. Remus averted his gaze, still catching bits and pieces on the way: a straight nose, full bitten lips, a flash of tongue as he nervously licked them—

Remus Lupin did not consider himself a violent person. He had never raised a hand to anyone. There’d been a few close calls, sure, as the number of shots Tonks drank seemed to correlate directly with how many brawls they tried to start with strangers in public.

But no, Remus was not violent. Except for right now. Right now, he wanted to touch. He wanted to feel the most vulnerable parts of Sirius beneath his fingertips, to punish him for making Remus feel like this—unmoored and out of control and trapped inside his own artificial calm. He wanted to throttle Sirius for looking this good, for always looking this good, when Remus was still trying so desperately to forget him.

How was he supposed to survive the next four days with this image seared into his brain? How was he supposed to go home and continue about his mundane life, knowing Sirius was still here, looking like _this_?

He clenched his fists against the feeling, breathing through his nose, and mentally counted to ten. He would not strangle Sirius in James Potter’s kitchen, days before his wedding. That would be a bad idea. That would be a _very_ bad idea.

Fortunately, Remus didn’t get the chance, because Lily chose that moment to burst into the room in a blur of frenetic energy, hastily typing something out on her phone.

“Is it too late to fire the florist? He keeps joking about slipping lilies into the flower arrangements even though I’m deathly allergic, which was funny at first, but now it’s starting to feel like he’s seriously considering murdering me on my wedding day over a pun.”

James’ pocket pinged with a text. Lily looked up, taking in the scene before her. Any suspicions Remus had that this was planned vanished when he saw her head whip comically from James to Remus to Sirius to Tonks, then finally settle back on:

“Sirius,” she said calmly. “I didn’t realize you were joining us.”

Sirius was still looking at Remus. Remus could tell, even as his own eyes hovered safely over the empty space to the right of Sirius’ head. He could feel the stare burning into his skin, hot like a brand. It traced along his face, down the line of his throat, and disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt.

Pathetically and knowing it was foolish to even think it, Remus let himself wonder, just for a moment, if Sirius thought he looked good too.

“Sirius,” Lily tried again, voice soft.

The heat of Sirius’ eyes finally left him. Remus hoped that meant Sirius didn’t notice when he shivered at its absence.

Sirius cleared his throat. “I’m not. James forgot his tux in the car. I was bringing it in so it wouldn’t wrinkle.”

His voice was a punch in the gut, low and smooth like silk, and achingly familiar. Remus bit his lip so hard he tasted blood.

“Of course he did,” Lily said, turning to James. The two seemed to have an entire conversation with just their eyes. “Did you know he lost my engagement ring four times before he proposed? I had to keep pretending I didn’t find it and slip it in his nightstand when he wasn’t looking.”

“Maybe I did that on purpose,” said James. “Had to make sure you wouldn’t run for the hills screaming before I embarrassed myself in front of our family and friends.”

“The room we rented overbooked,” Remus said out of nowhere, feeling the need to explain himself, as if he’d done something wrong by coming even though they’d asked him to. “And I know I’m early. I just didn’t want to risk being late on your big day. All that… traffic.”

On the six-hour drive here, they’d encountered approximately zero minutes of traffic, unless you counted the herd of sheep they’d had to shoo off the road a couple towns back. And even if that weren’t the case, it wouldn’t explain being early by four whole days.

The truth was Remus knew himself all too well. If he’d left everything up to the last minute, he wouldn’t have come at all. He would’ve locked himself in the bathroom with nothing but a spoon and a pint of mint ice cream until Tonks called the fire department or busted the door down themself.

It was harder to justify running from something when it was already there. But he wasn’t about to tell them that.

James, bless him, nodded along to traffic story like it made perfect sense anyway.

“I don’t care if Snape personally shuttled you here to sneak Ex-Lax in the wedding cake batter. We’re happy to have you, Moony. Whatever the reason.”

Severus Snape was Lily’s creepy kid neighbor, who she’d promptly stopped babysitting after she’d caught him pointing his telescope at her bedroom window one morning while she was changing. Remus’ stomach turned at the idea of sharing a car with him and his eerie thousand-yard stare.

“I mean it,” said James. “Stay as long as you’d like. We can build a guest house out back if you’re looking for something more permanent.” James clapped Remus on the arm and aimed a grin at Tonks. “Reckon I can get that name out of you? Since we’re gonna be housemates and all.”

“That depends,” Tonks replied. “What size guest house are we talking?”

James laughed, delighted.

“This is Tonks,” Lily told James. “They’re Remus’—is partner okay?”

Tonks grinned back. It looked light and breezy, Remus noted with a hint of jealousy, as he forced his own. “Partner’s brilliant, thanks.”

“Great to meet ya, Tonks.” James reached out to enthusiastically shake their hand. “I see my fiancé’s already put you two to work.”

He gestured to the cooking pot on the stovetop. It would be ready soon, its warm, peppery blend of cumin, turmeric, and coriander permeating the air.

“Oh that was all Remus,” said Tonks. “I’m just the after dinner entertainment. Strictly PG, don’t worry… Unless.”

Remus rolled his eyes, though secretly he was grateful for the distraction. Otherwise, he’d have nothing to do with himself but quietly obsess over every minute detail of the encounter, like how he’d noticed Sirius’ eyes widen infinitesimally at the word _partner_.

(It was official. Remus was oh for three. What was the point of asking someone to be your fake date if no one actually believed they would willingly date you?)

“Don’t bother,” Remus said. “James has only had eyes for Lily since primary school.”

“Good thing I wasn’t talking about him,” Tonks said, winking at Lily.

Lily had the grace to look flattered. “Oh, um—”

“Do you always flirt with your partner’s friends?”

It was Sirius who asked, tone light, as if commenting on the weather. There was an odd smile frozen on his face, a little wrinkle that Remus had never seen before puckered between his eyebrows. Remus’ fingers prickled with the urge to smooth it out.

“Only when they’re good-looking,” said Tonks, matching his tone, while simultaneously sounding like they wanted to crush him beneath their Doc Martens—though maybe that was just Remus projecting.

“And engaged,” Sirius countered.

“Engaged isn’t married, and neither necessarily has to mean forever.”

“That’s beautiful. Should have put that on the invitations.”

“Easy there, you two,” James intervened with another laugh, as Remus broke into a cold sweat. “You’ll have to forgive Sirius. He’s—” a quick glance at Remus “—the best man. My better half, really. Deeply invested in this whole wedding business, cries like a baby every time Lily and I have a go at each other over place card fonts. Think he’s just worried about who’ll win custody in the divorce.”

James slung an arm around Sirius’ shoulders and reached up to rustle his hair, which wasn’t unusual behavior. Sirius actually _letting_ him do it, however, was apocalyptic.

“Let’s try to get through the wedding part before worrying about the divorce, yeah?” said Lily. “And aren’t I supposed to be your better half?”

“You’re my _best_ half,” said James.

It’d been a while since Remus had seen James’ patented Lily Look, but here it was, burning brighter than ever, so soppy-sweet Remus’ teeth hurt and so warm it leeched all the heat from the room, leaving it ten degrees colder.

Or maybe that was the chill radiating off Tonks and Sirius’ blandly courteous expressions.

Remus watched on as they just looked at each other, tapping his fingers rhythmlessly against his thigh, scuffing his shoe on the hardwood, and flashing back to a night in Brixton, when a man had grabbed Tonks’ arse and Tonks had drunkenly smashed a pint glass on the bar top and pointed it at his throat without batting an eye.

One particular detail of James and Lily’s kitchen stood out now more than ever: there was a knife block on the countertop to Tonks’ left in perfect reaching distance. Remus wondered if anyone would notice if he just slid it a couple more inches back.

“Charmed,” said Sirius, who held out his hand.

“Likewise,” said Tonks, who did not take it.

Sirius’ eyes flicked over to Remus for a microsecond, giving Remus a front row seat to Sirius’ face as he realized Tonks knew _everything_. Sirius let his hand fall back to his side. The look he gave Remus would feel almost accusatory were it not for the smile still fixed on Sirius’ lips.

If James noticed anything off about the exchange, he didn’t let on. Life would be much easier if Remus’ brain worked like James’ did. “Well, Tonks, I can tell you after the day I’ve had, any _appropriate_ form of after dinner entertainment would be welcome.”

“It was a two hour fitting, James,” Lily said, with all the resignation of someone who wasn’t saying it for the first time and knew it wouldn’t be the last. “You should’ve seen him this afternoon. You’d think I was marching him off to the gallows.”

“Malkin stuck me with the pin sixteen times, Lily. _Sixteen_. This was not an accident. It was an orchestrated attack. Tell her, Pads.”

He looked expectantly at Sirius, who shrugged, only barely paying attention. “She’s ninety-two years old and blind as a bat. Just be thankful she didn’t orchestrate sewing it into your arsecheek.”

“No, see that’s how she gets you. She—”

“You seem well,” Sirius interrupted, abruptly turning to Remus.

This back and forth was giving Remus whiplash.

“I am,” Remus said, relieved when his voice didn’t shake.

He couldn’t tell Sirius the same. Not casually like Sirius did, like it wouldn’t matter to him either way, when it mattered to Remus so much.

Remus hated himself for that. How he could prepare for months and put up all his best defenses, and yet Sirius could tear them down so effortlessly in a matter of moments, without even realizing, with just an impassive look and a few polite words.

Remus felt Tonks’ fingers lace through his own, squeezing. Remus squeezed back, so grateful his chest hurt.

Sirius’ eyes tracked the movement then looked away. “Good. I’m glad.”

“I’m more than glad,” James blurted, oblivious. “It’s been ages, mate. Pete was worried you’d gone and joined a cult.”

“Nah, but he’s in a book club with some of the other English teachers,” Tonks told them. “That’s basically the same thing.”

Remus frowned at Tonks. “How is that the same thing?”

“Remus, love, they made you read Dostoevsky. It’s a cult.”

“I like Dostoevsky,” Remus said defensively.

“Do you? Or is that what they want you to think?”

“I should go,” Sirius said. He ducked out from under James’ arm, abandoning the garment bags on the kitchen island.

Even as Remus felt his shoulders relax at the suggestion and his mind internally applaud, his heart gave a traitorous little tug, as if it had already forgotten what Sirius had done the last time he’d held it in his cold, reckless hands.

James scoffed. “Don’t be daft. You’re already here. Might as well stay for dinner, make a night of it.”

“James,” Lily warned, but Sirius beat her to it.

“Thanks, Prongs,” Sirius said, lips upturned wryly. “But I’m not sure that’s a great idea.”

“Sure it is. Looks like there’s plenty of whatever Remus made to go around,” James said, ignoring Lily’s unimpressed frown. “As long as it’s okay with Remus, of course.”

He looked at Remus then, the very picture of doe-eyed innocence.

Ah. So maybe James wasn’t so clueless after all.

Remus held back a sigh, feeling a headache start to form. It was a smart play. Devious, even. This time Remus couldn’t just end the call.

He knew James meant well. He was a mediator by nature. Always had been, although the fights were much simpler at eleven than twenty-four. When it came to friendship, James saw no hurdle too high, no distance too wide. Remus should be thankful for that. It was probably the only reason he was still invited to the wedding in the first place.

Except that was the problem. James thought the distance between Remus and Sirius was only a conflict of friendship. James didn’t know the truth, because even at his angriest, Remus never had it in him to tell it.

 _Never_ , he’d once promised Sirius. _Not if you don’t want me to._

Briefly, he entertained the idea of saying no. Of reeling James in by the shirt and screaming it in his face. Telling him to piss off, telling him everything, letting it all spill out from where it’d been roiling inside him, watching Sirius’ face twist into something other than that infuriatingly pleasant, seeing Lily and James’ twin looks of horror, Tonks in hysterics in the background, egging him on.

Even in the safety of his thoughts, the scene gave Remus hives.

And after essentially refusing to talk to James for two years, then inconsistently checking in for the next four, Remus figured he at least owed him this. It was one dinner, and Sirius was already here. The worse that could happen had happened.

Besides, just because Remus said no, didn’t mean James wouldn’t keep trying.

“What are you asking me for?” Remus joked. “It’s your house.”

“It’s okay if the answer’s no,” Sirius said quickly, before James could respond. “I don’t mind.”

Remus felt that like a kick in the teeth. He was intimately aware of just how much Sirius didn’t mind.

But he pushed that thought to the outskirts of his mind. He would think about that later. After. In some distant, undefined period of time. However long it would take. And in the meantime, he could do _this_. He could be normal and smile and laugh and keep pushing those kinds of thoughts away, for tonight and for the next four days and for the rest of his life if he had to. He could do this for James and Lily, and for Tonks, who came all this way, and for himself, too. He could do this.

“You sure?” Remus asked Sirius in the same way he would Tonks or James or Lily or Peter or basically anyone who wasn’t Sirius Black: with a slight grin, eyebrows raised challengingly. “I made chicken curry. Some of it might even be edible.”

Tonks made a noise. “ _Some_ is a bit generous.”

He felt Tonks pinch the back of his arm, probably wondering what the hell he was doing, but Remus grinned through the sting.

Sirius opened his mouth then promptly closed it with a click of teeth. Remus watched his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. It was the closest thing to a reaction Remus had seen out of him all night, yet its meaning still evaded him.

He used to be able to read Sirius’ mood in just a glance, but now his pages had faded, the words indecipherable, written in a dead language Remus couldn’t begin to understand.

“If that’s what you want,” Sirius said, as if that had ever mattered to him before.

“Then it’s settled,” Lily said, though she looked only slightly more enthusiastic about it than Sirius. “I’ll set the table for five. James, why don’t you and Sirius go hang your suits and wash up?”

As James turned to go, she stopped him with a hand and pointed pause. Her eyes shifted to Sirius and back to James.

“Try the upstairs closet?” Lily suggested. “It should have more room.”

They were doing that strange, telepathic eye-communication thing again.

“Okay,” James said, not blinking. “Might take a while though. I have to check some of the stitching and… hems.”

“No, you don’t,” Sirius said, looking unamused and clearly reading something into the conversation Remus couldn’t. “We’ll be down in five.”

“Take as long as you need,” said Lily, like she hadn’t heard him. “Tonks, would you mind helping Remus carry everything out?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tonks said with a lazy salute.

But as soon as the room cleared—Remus did not watch Sirius’ back as he left; he was very proud of that—Tonks turned to Remus with narrowed eyes.

“Remus,” they said. “What the fuck.”

And: “Have you gone absolutely mental?”

And: “You know, I can’t tell if this is an astounding display of emotional maturity or the most unsexy act of masochism I’ve ever seen.”

“Hm. That’s weird.” Remus retreated to the stovetop to fidget with the dials, trying not to shrink under their scrutiny. “What part of me reliving my adolescent trauma isn’t doing it for you?”

“You are a little sweaty,” Tonks conceded, leaning back against the counter. “Some people are into that.”

Oh great. Remus added _a little sweaty_ to his laundry list of insecurities, right under _undateable-troll_.

Tonks sighed with more exasperation than Remus thought necessary. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”

Remus snorted. No. Never.

He reached for another dial. Huffing, Tonks grabbed a spatula off the counter and slapped his hand away.

“Oi!” Remus yelled, going a little cross-eyed when Tonks jabbed the utensil at him threateningly.

“ _Remus John Lupin_ , you look at me when I talk to you.”

They waggled the spatula around, bopping his nose repeatedly as Remus cried out, “Alright, alright, I’m looking!” until he had to snatch it out of their hand and fling it across the room.

Both watched it hit the wall with an anticlimactic thwack.

Tonks turned back to Remus and took his face in their hands, the gentle touch only sort of dampening the murderous glint in their eyes. “I want you to know that I love you and I’ll always be here for you, but also I will hold you personally responsible if that dickhead smiles at me again and I gauge his eyes out with my dinner spoon.”

“Noted,” said Remus.

“Or slip poison ivy into his boutonnière.”

“Right.”

“Or cut the brake line on his motorbike.”

“Sounding a little less like a joke now.”

“Good,” said Tonks. “It wasn’t.” They gave his cheek a little slap before letting go, and Remus rubbed it with a glare. “Let’s fucking eat.”

* * *

Remus stared down at his bowl of chicken curry. He didn’t think it was supposed to be that shade of yellow. He didn’t think anything was supposed to be that shade of yellow. It was bright, almost neon, and of a pukeish nature, which clashed garishly with the elegant dining room: the walnut-wooden table, silver and porcelain dinnerware and spotless cloth napkins monogrammed with a tastefully discreet L&J, the overhanging glass chandelier.

At second glance, maybe James hadn’t exercised as much monetary restraint as Remus originally thought.

Remus peered up at the other table guests. Lily sat across from him and poked around her bowl, stalling. Next to her was Sirius, who frowned as he watched James test the viscosity of his curry with a sort of disgusted curiosity. Tonks just leaned back in their chair, arms folded across their chest.

“I’m not eating this,” Tonks told him flat out.

“When I said anything in the cupboard was free game, you didn’t think that meant the cleaning products, did you?” Lily asked.

She wasn’t kidding. There was genuine concern in her expression.

“I don’t understand how this happened,” Remus said miserably. “I did everything right.”

“I was there,” said Tonks. “You did not.”

“Looks aren’t everything,” Lily backtracked, as if she hadn’t just accused him of cooking with bleach. “I’m sure it’s very… digestible.”

Tonks gestured to her bowl. “Then by all means, be our guest.”

Lily visibly gulped.

“Oh come on, it can’t be that bad,” said James, who’d always been the best and bravest of them, as he brought the first spoonful to his mouth.

And then immediately spat it back out.

James jumped to his feet, dropping the offending silverware to the table with a clang. “I’m getting a frozen burrito.”

“Make that two,” said Tonks.

“Three,” said Lily. “Sorry, Remus.”

Remus sighed and threw in the towel—or, in this instance, the monogrammed napkin. “Four, please.”

They all turned to Sirius, who raised his spoon primly to his lips, several bites in.

“It tastes fine to me,” Sirius said, peaking up at Remus just for a second as he said it. He looked a little green.

“Don’t be a hero, Pads,” James said gravely, nicking it from Sirius before he could take another bite.

Compared to his Frankenstein’s monster of a curry, the lukewarm, freezer-burned burritos were blessedly tolerable. Remus moaned around his first mouthful.

“God, I love these things,” Tonks said, eyes fluttering closed. “If it weren’t for the frozen section, Remus and I would’ve overdosed on toast sandwiches and three week-old takeout years ago.”

“How long have you two lived together?” Lily asked, latching onto the subject, one of the many Remus had kept off-limits.

“Two years, give or take a couple months,” Tonks said between bites. “Might be moving soon though, if our landlord has anything to say about it.”

“Oh?” Lily’s forehead creased in polite worry. “Did something happen?”

“Just a few noise complaints,” Tonks said offhandedly. “Thin walls. Apparently there are people who actually like to sleep at night. Can’t imagine why.”

Tonks was obviously referring to the months of their midnight, reality-TV-worthy arguments and not earth-quaking, headboard-banging, _is someone dying, should we call the police_ sex. But only Remus knew that.

James choked, scrambling for his water glass and chugging it in one go. Lily blushed furiously.

For his own sanity, Remus avoided looking at Sirius’ section of the table altogether.

“Guess that’s one of the perks of living all the way out here,” Lily said, cheeks still a faint pink. “Lots of space. No shared walls.”

“Yeah, but have you ever seen a pigeon and mutant sewer rat fight over a piece of garbage?” Tonks asked. “You can’t fake that kind of culture.”

“Think I saw that film,” James said. “Didn’t they end up overcoming their differences and banning together to overthrow Parliament?”

“That can’t be right. Pigeons are notoriously avid supporters of the democratic process.”

“What is it you do for a living, Tonks?” Lily asked, evidently not wanting to lose pace. Like if she slowed for even a moment, Remus would yank back the dangling carrot, lock it inside a sealed vault, and throw away the code. “Sorry for the inquisition. Remus is allergic to telling us things about his personal life.”

“Embarrassed of me, are you?” Tonks teased Remus, then told Lily, “I don’t blame him. I’m a part-time barista. Moonlighting as a grad student. Doomed to a life of unemployment.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” Remus argued. He hated when they talked about themself like that. “You’re working on your MPhil, and you’re brilliant at it, and you won’t admit it, but I know your mentor’s already talked you into getting your PhD. You can recite Plato’s Dialogues by memory even when you’re smashed and win just about any argument, which would be obnoxious if it weren’t so impressive, and even if your degree went nowhere and you stayed a barista for the rest of your life, you’d still be the smartest person I’ve ever known, working a perfectly respectful job. I mean, if you think about it, you alone have the ability to brighten or ruin someone’s day with just a splash of milk or packet of sugar. That’s more power than a barrister or tax accountant will ever have.”

Remus felt his face flush as four pairs of startled eyes blinked back at him. Well, three. He was still avoiding Sirius’ like the plague.

Tonks broke into a toothy grin. “Wow.”

“Shut up,” said Remus, face feeling even warmer.

“That’s so embarrassing,” Tonks said anyway. “You like me so much.”

Remus hid his face in his hands. “Can we move on please?”

“It’s true though,” said James, and Remus could hear the suppressed laughter in his voice. “Baristas are a pillar of society. It would collapse around us without them.”

“Don’t tell me that,” Tonks said, taking pity on Remus and changing topics. Remus deemed it safe to uncover his face and pretended he didn’t see Lily looking at him like he’d done something especially adorable. “My childhood therapist said I had disturbingly destructive tendencies and that I’d watch the world burn just to see what it looked like.”

Lily frowned. “Your therapist told you all that?”

Lily had an unfortunate habit of taking on other people’s problems as her own. That’s how James got her in the end. His problem was that he was never going to love anyone except her. What else could Lily do but love him right back?

“He also called me an evil little bitch,” Tonks said. “Nice man. Wonder how his family’s doing. Anyway, let’s do Remus now.”

Remus had never felt so threatened by a smile.

“So you know how he’s a secondary school teacher?” Tonks began, holding dramatically for their nods. “Well, he’s also _the_ teacher.”

“You’re kidding!” James gasped, slapping the table. “Moony, you dog.”

“Really?” Lily asked. “ _Our_ Remus?”

Remus squinted at them. “I don’t get it. What am I?”

“Did it ever seem strange to you that all your kids actually finish their reading assignments?” Tonks asked him.

“No,” said Remus, completely perplexed now. “They’re good kids. They like to read.”

“You think a bunch of fourteen year olds like reading _Wuthering Heights_?”

“It’s a classic.”

“Remus, they don’t like _Wuthering Heights_. They like the way your mouth looks when you read it aloud.”

Remus straightens, taken aback. _“What?”_

“They’ve got a crush on you, mate,” James said sagely. “You’re _the_ teacher.”

“That’s not a thing,” Remus said.

“Oh, it definitely is,” James insisted. “Remember McGonagall?”

Remus did remember McGonagall. He remembered sitting on the opposite side of her desk with Sirius, James, and Peter flanking him, watching her with eyes like saucers and squirming in his chair as she laid into them in her thick, Scottish brogue and stern, unrelenting gaze and— _oh_.

“So that’s why you were always getting us in trouble,” Remus accused. “And here I thought you were a one-woman man, you slag.”

“It’s why I invited her to the wedding,” Lily chimed in. “Got to stake my claim.”

“I never said I fancied her.” James seemed terrified at the thought. He leveled them with a warning look. “And you can’t say anything at the reception. She’d pop my head off like a praying mantis and devour it in front of all our guests.”

“But what a way to go,” Remus mused, ducking when James chunked his napkin at him. Remus laughed, feeling warm and tingly all over. Maybe this wouldn’t be as hard as he thought

“Alright, alright. Gentleman, please. It’s the lady’s turn.” Tonks motioned to Lily. “Remus said you’re in med school. Second year?”

“About to start it,” Lily said. “This is the last break I’m going to get for a while. Kind of perfect timing with the wedding and all, since I’ve heard the next two years are supposed to be a living hell. Then there’s the residency, hopefully a fellowship.”

Tonks whistled, appropriately impressed. “What kind of doctor do you want to be?”

To Remus’ embarrassment, he realized he didn’t know the answer.

“Cardiologist, I think,” Lily said. “With a focus in pediatrics.”

“Cardiologist is the heart one, right?”

“Lily’s great with hearts,” James sighed. “Maybe someday you could hold mine in your hands for real. Wouldn’t that be romantic?”

Lily gave him a disturbed look. “Oh yeah, very romantic. Your heart in my hands, your lifeless body on the table.”

“Sounds like quite the honeymoon,” said Tonks.

“I don’t think your wife’s allowed to be your doctor,” Remus told him. “Though you do fit the pediatric requirement.”

But James stopped listening after: “Wife,” he repeated, beaming.

“I couldn’t help him anyway,” Lily said around a laugh. “Whatever he has is clearly terminal.”

She reached over to pat his hand fondly. Which meant she had to reach over Sirius. Which meant Remus accidentally looked at him when his eyes followed the movement. And Sirius looked—

He was staring at the table, eyes downturned, lips thin. He sat rigid in his chair, back not touching the cushion. He’d removed his jacket before dinner—after he and James had gone above and beyond heeding Lily’s advice, spending an entire half an hour upstairs checking the hems of their already tailored suits or whatever rich-person nonsense James had spouted—and was clad only in a thin, cotton tee, so Remus could see the way the veins in his arms bulged, like he was clenching his hands into fists under the table.

But then he looked up, startled to meet Remus’ gaze, and the image changed, the next painting right over it: the tension drained from Sirius’ shoulders, palms rested on the table, expression open and relaxed.

It was quick, seamless; Remus was half-convinced he’d hallucinated the whole thing.

He wasn’t sure what to make of that. He wasn’t sure what to make of Sirius, period.

“And what about you, James? Remus mentioned you’ve had some big, charity project in the works for years.”

Remus caught the tail end of James’ reaction to that: a sheepish shrug, a glance at Remus.

“Right,” James said. “About that. It’s… not a secret. But it’s not _not_ a secret… Think of it as a fact that I was keeping from one person that everyone else knew about.”

“So a secret,” said Remus.

James’ face crumpled in misery. “I wanted to tell you. I did. Really bad. All the time. I hated lying to you—” Remus winced “—even by omission. It was awful. I had to binge-eat an entire sleeve of biscuits after our phone calls just to cope. Usually stale ones. Sometimes out of the garbage.”

“That was _supposed_ to be a deterrent,” Lily remarked dryly.

“I guess I was just worried you would think it was weird or that I was overstepping or—”

“It’s not weird,” Lily assured him, hand still on his. “It’s wonderful. We’re all very proud.”

James took a breath. “It’s a community center and, if need be—though thankfully it hasn’t come to that yet—a shelter,” another quick look at Remus, “for LGBTQ+ youth.”

“Oh,” Remus said, for lack of anything better.

“It wasn’t just because of you,” James said in a rush. “There were… other reasons that we don’t need to get into right now… I know our town’s not the worst about that kind of stuff, but it’s small, and I thought it might be nice to have somewhere to go with people to talk to if you don’t feel like home is that place for you, you know?” He cringed. “Not that I’m the leading expert or anything, as a cis straight man, but I did hire some good folk who are and do good work. And the kids seem to love it, so that’s—”

“James,” Remus said, worried James might talk himself into oblivion if he didn’t. “Lily’s right. That sounds wonderful.”

“It does?” James brightened. “You’re not mad I didn’t tell you?”

“Not mad,” Remus said. “A bit confused, and sorry that I made you feel like you couldn’t. But not mad.”

“Oh, Moony, no.” James shook his head so aggressively Remus was sure his glasses would fall off. “You didn’t do anything, I swear.”

Except he did.

For years, Remus wouldn’t let James so much as mention his impromptu coming out beyond his initial declaration that _it doesn’t change a thing, Remus, I love you no matter who you fancy, you know that, right?_ Because it had changed a thing, whether James would admit it or not. It had changed everything, just maybe not in the way James had thought.

For years, he’d given James no reason to believe such news would be welcome.

Remus’ mouth felt dry, eyes hot.

How long had James held onto this guilt, convincing himself he was somehow doing something wrong by wanting to help people and wanting to tell Remus, one of his closest friends, all about it? How many nights did he lie awake, afraid Remus would see this act of compassion, of love, and treat it like something unwanted?

How many other acts had Remus treated just the same?

If Remus were brave, he would tell James, right now, just how much it meant, and how much he wished he’d answered every single one of James and Lily’s calls and offered up more than these piecemeal details of his life, so they didn’t have to sit here, trading them like strangers.

But Remus was not brave. He wouldn’t be lying to his friends’ faces if he were.

“So that’s what you’ve been doing with your time then?” he said instead, smiling weakly. “Throwing your money around and letting other people do all the work for you?”

“Yeah, that’s called running a business,” James replied, with no idea how close he’d come to Remus blubbering all over the table. “You artsy academic sort wouldn’t get it.”

“And when do I get to see this supposed business?” Remus asked. “Or is it like your imaginary American girlfriend in year eight?”

“One, she was my pen pal, not my girlfriend. Two, I know you know she’s real. I met her when I was eleven and we went on Christmas holiday to Hawaii, there are pictures of us together—you’ve _seen_ those pictures—”

Remus talked over him. “Give it up, Prongs. We all know you wrote the letters and sent them to yourself.”

“I did not—” James seemed to finally absorb what Remus said, his grin growing impossibly wider. “You want to see it?”

“Unless there’s a reason I shouldn’t,” Remus said, struck by a horrible thought. “Oh god. You didn’t name it after me or something, did you?”

“Uh, no, nope,” James said. “Definitely not.”

Not the most convincing denial, but Remus guessed he’d find out soon enough.

“We actually have an event tomorrow, if you two aren’t too busy to stop by,” James said, practically vibrating with excitement as he looked between Remus and Tonks. “It’s for the annual Summer Fete. Very official. We’ve got a booth and everything.”

“You’re kidding,” Remus said. “That’s tomorrow?”

James gave him a strange look. “It’s always on the thirteenth of the month. You know that.”

Every summer since he was eleven, Remus, James, Sirius, and Peter would wake up at the crack of dawn, completely submerge themselves in a tub of sunscreen—courtesy of Hope Lupin—and ride their bikes down to the lake to watch the fete workers file into their booths, set up the tents and makeshift stage, and wheel in the food carts. That way they could scope out the scene early and make sure they hit all the hot spots before the afternoon crowds rolled in.

They’d spend the whole day there, from sunrise to nightfall, wandering from booth to booth, listening to a range of decent to terrible live music, squabbling over useless little arcade game prizes, and stuffing their faces with greasy fair food—until one of them inevitably puked (usually James), and their skin itched and peeled, and Remus had so many new freckles on his face, Sirius said he looked like his own constellation.

Remus didn’t go that last year, and obviously not any of the years since. Contrary to James’ belief, he had actually forgotten the date.

He wasn’t sure why that felt like the worst kind of betrayal.

“Anyway,” James said. “The kids are thrilled. They’ve been talking about it since January, which was touch and go for a bit, since the wedding date kept fluctuating and I wasn’t even sure if we’d qualify for a booth. We’re so new and the committee’s insanely selective. But I suppose that was my first mistake. I should’ve known if our event coordinator extraordinaire put his mind to something, only divine forces could stand in his way.”

James paused, waiting for something. When nothing came, he cleared his throat and elbowed Sirius in the ribs.

“I said—”

“I heard what you said.” Sirius’ voice was rough from lack of use. He caught James’ elbow and pushed it away, grumbling, “What do you want, a bloody trophy?”

James twisted in his chair to face Sirius, looking as bewildered as Remus felt. “Why would I…” James’ face fell. “ _Pads_.”

Remus recognized that tone. It spoke of phone calls, stilted but dependable; of cheesy birthday cards, always signed, never a day late; of watching through the window as someone lingered on his porch, refusing to leave even as they baked under the sun, until Remus’ mother dragged him down the stairs and forced him outside with two tall glasses of old fashioned lemonade.

Just by being in the same room, Remus knew he was intruding on something deeply private.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” said Sirius. “You’re so melodramatic.”

James’ responding gape did nothing to disprove the claim. “But I thought—”

“Look, I’m not saying never, alright? Just not tonight.”

Something about Sirius’ expression stopped James mid-protest. “Alright,” he said. “Of course, yeah. Whenever you want.”

An awkward silence sat heavy in the room. Remus could feel it thicken the air, stifling all further conversation. Even Tonks fidgeted uncomfortably, and they’d never missed an opportunity to talk in their life.

“Well,” Lily said loudly, with an exaggerated stretch. “I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted. Think we could call it a night?”

“Sounds good to me,” James said, like a switch flipped, already clearing the table. “Early day tomorrow. I’m still picking you up at five, right?”

“Ugh.” Sirius’ nose wrinkled. “If you must.” He looked across the table, first at Tonks, so he could say, “It was nice meeting you,” and then at—

“Remus,” he said. It was the first time, in a long time, he’d heard his name on those lips. With a bated breath, Remus waited for what would leave them next.

But there was nothing. Sirius just handed his plate to James, pecked Lily on the cheek, and stood in one quick, sweeping motion.

He was leaving. The first time Sirius had called his name in six years, and it was in parting.

“Need a ride?” Lily asked, when Sirius detoured at the coat rack.

“It’s fine,” Sirius said, shrugging on his leather jacket. “I’ll take the bike.”

Lily frowned disapprovingly. “I didn’t notice a helmet outside. You wouldn’t happen to have one hiding in your trouser pockets, would you?”

Sirius pulled up the zip. “You seem oddly fascinated with what’s in my trousers, Evans. Cold feet?”

“Never been warmer,” Lily said, and James grinned so hard he almost brained himself on the doorway while ducking into the kitchen.

When Sirius finally turned to go, Remus found himself struck by the familiarity of the view, not just from the glimpse he’d caught earlier in the kitchen, but from _before_.

And maybe that was why—as his eyes lingered on the arch of Sirius’ spine, the width of his shoulders carried straight and tall, a sliver of fine hairs curling at the nape of his exposed neck—this time, a part of Remus, the part he smothered like embers to keep from catching, could not look away.

 _Oh no_ , Remus thought, four days suddenly a lifetime away.

* * *

Remus couldn’t identify the exact moment things with Sirius went to shit. Nothing unraveled from a single loose thread. You’d have to tug and tug at it, undoing another after another, until the fabric tore in your hands at its seams, a mess of your own making.

One event bled into the next, a series of overlooked wrong turns: that final day in James’ room, painstakingly writing and rewriting that fucking letter, James’ graduation party, all those miserably wonderful months Remus had let himself believe something he knew was too good to be true, to that very first night, when he’d let Sirius kiss him to distraction, all the worries and what-ifs disappearing beneath the soothe of Sirius’ touch.

Sometimes, when he was feeling especially brooding, Remus would pluck one from the pile and try it on.

He would hold its memory in his mind, replaying it over and over, and map out all the places things could have gone differently. Maybe he didn’t give Sirius the letter. Maybe he never went to James’ party. Maybe, when Sirius asked _can I kiss you, Remus,_ Remus said no.

Would that have changed anything? Would he have even had the strength to change it?

Tonight, after Lily banned him from helping wash up and he settled into an unfamiliar bed—Tonks asleep beside him, the weight of the evening’s tentative, unearned success pressing down on his chest, heavier than failure, seeing faces in the dark ceiling: James’ as he’d hurried over to Remus and threw his arms around him, Lily’s as she’d pulled away and dimpled up at him, Sirius’ pink, upturned mouth, Sirius’ dark eyes, Sirius, Sirius, Sirius—Remus slipped on one of the memories, even though he knew he shouldn’t:

(Maybe Tonks was right. Maybe Remus was a masochist.)

Two days after his eighteenth birthday, Remus and Sirius sprawled out on the couch in Remus’ living room, camped in front of the television and whatever was silently auto-playing on Netflix after they’d forgotten to turn it off.

Remus’ parents weren’t home. His mother and father were finishing up a small book tour, just a few signings at some tiny bookshops a couple towns over. They’d felt bad about missing Remus’ birthday, but Remus had insisted. This was a big deal for Lyall, and Remus knew it would break Hope’s heart to not be there right by his side. Plus, he figured the separation was good practice for university.

The decision had absolutely nothing to do with having the house to himself for two whole weeks and a very attractive not-boyfriend to spend them with. Or all the _various_ ways he and said not-boyfriend had decided to ring in his eighteenth year.

His parents were due back in three days, so Remus and Sirius were making the most of the extra space while they still could, usually by snogging in the living room until their faces hurt, but also just touching—a casual brush of fingers against the back of a hand, a close-mouthed kiss pressed against a hairline. Little acts of affection that Remus had to pretend didn’t leave him just as breathless as the big ones.

Remus had put on a random episode of Bake Off, and he’d let Sirius stretch out across the cushions so he could plant his bare feet in Remus’ lap, a bowl of popcorn propped on his chest. Occasionally, Sirius would flick a piece into Remus’ face, only sometimes aiming for his mouth, and it would rebound off Remus’ front teeth as he laughed.

It was nice. Being together just for the sake of being together, touching just to touch. Existing outside of Remus’ bedroom without feeling the compulsion to hide. Remus could spend all day on that couch, silently massaging Sirius’ anklebone while bingeing mind-numbing television. He could dedicate hours to just lazily combing his fingers through Sirius hair as he tucked himself sleep-warm against Remus’ side, his face nestled in the crook of Remus’ neck. He could stay there forever, even as his hands cramped and his arm tired and his neck ached, if it meant he could feel Sirius’ breaths against his skin for that much longer, Sirius’ heartbeat steady and calming as it seemed to beat in time with his own.

It still wouldn’t be enough.

Remus had been trying to shake off those cloying, syrupy thoughts for months, but they were stubborn. Every time he touched one, it clung to his fingers, sticking to everything, leaving its traces everywhere, painting his entire brain in its rose-tinted sheen.

And it was all Sirius’ fault, the prat. Remus dragged a spiteful, punishing finger down the sole of his foot. When Sirius flailed in surprise, Remus was prepared and grabbed hold of his ankle before he could jerk it away.

Sirius rose up on his elbows to glare, nose in the air, high and haughty. It made Remus want to lean in and nudge his own against it and other unspeakably embarrassing things. “I hope you know that was an absolute breach of trust, and you’ll be lucky if I ever let you touch me again.”

Remus stared back, forcing his face blank, and lifted a finger. It lingered ominously above Sirius’ trapped heel.

“I mean it,” Sirius said, figuratively standing his ground, literally reclining with no intention of moving an inch. “No touching. Ever again.”

“You’re bluffing,” Remus said.

“Maybe,” Sirius agreed. “Are you willing to take the chance?”

Remus considered that. He wasn’t. He did it again anyway.

Sirius’ whole body jerked in reaction, his free leg aiming an involuntary—or entirely voluntary—kick at Remus’ chin, only missing because Remus had the forethought to catch it. Sirius tried to wiggle away with an undignified sputter, looking like a fish on a hook, but Remus just held tight and laughed, using his grip on Sirius’ legs to reel him in closer. Sirius slid across the couch like he weighed nothing, the forgotten popcorn bowl tipping onto the carpet, and Remus met him halfway, crawling over to straddle his still thrashing legs and pin Sirius’ shoulders to the cushions below, all while Sirius hissed out a string of insults:

“You’re despicable. Vile. Unhand me, you brute, or I’ll—”

But by the time Remus hovered over him, Sirius was quiet and blinking up at him with wide eyes. Remus stopped laughing.

“What?” Remus asked, worried.

He shifted up a bit, just to look Sirius over, two seconds from moving away and vomiting up a litany of apologies if he saw even the smallest hint of actual discomfort— _had he pulled too hard?_ —but then Remus’ thigh brushed up against something and Sirius groaned right into Remus’ face.

Remus’ heart stuttered. Oh.

He bit back a laugh. Judging from the ferocity of Sirius’ scowl, it did nothing to hide his amusement.

“Shut up,” Sirius said, face flushed in angry, uneven blotches, which shouldn’t be as attractive as it was. But it was Sirius, so he didn’t question it. Remus had once gotten hard watching Sirius lick his finger to turn a page. That ship had sailed. “Don’t say a word.”

“So,” Remus said, grinnedly defiant, and paused for effect. “Tickling, huh?”

Sirius gave him an affronted look. “You know that’s not—”

Remus released one of his shoulders to run his fingertips down the hollow of Sirius’ throat. He could feel it click as he swallowed.

Sirius squirmed again. Remus’ original comparison to a flopping fish felt woefully inadequate, and his brain categorized this version of the movement as more of the _holy fucking shit_ variety.

Remus grinned wider. “You were saying?”

“I don’t wank it to _tickling_ ,” Sirius said, looking like he couldn’t decide between smacking Remus’ hand away and pressing it down harder. “This is your fault, okay? You and your stupid, disproportionately large hands. I can’t help myself. It’s Pavlovian.”

“That’s not fair,” Remus said, letting his hand drift down and splay out low across Sirius’ stomach, the tip of his thumb hooked just inside the waist of his trousers. “Maybe I’ll grow into them.”

Sirius grabbed his wrist, inhaling sharply. “Remus.”

It sounded more like a threat than a plea, but his eyes were dark, pupils blown, and the fingers curled around Remus’ wrist gave a little twitch, like it was taking everything he had not to tug it lower.

Not for the first time, Remus wondered how it was even possible he could have this. That Sirius trusted this part of himself with him, a part he had never given to anyone else. Remus wanted to scoop it up in his hands, hold it close to his chest, and never let go. It was exhilaratingly addictive. When he was with Sirius, he felt sure of himself in a way he never had before.

“Remus what?” Remus prompted, leaning in closer, Sirius’ reply a warm puff of air on Remus’ lips:

“Remus, touch me—” Sirius rose up to bridge the final inch “—before I dump bloody popcorn down your pants.”

Remus kissed him, just once, just a dry brush of lips, not ready to give up the game quite yet. Pulling away, he nosed along Sirius’ jaw, breathing in the thick scent of warm skin and faded cologne, and paused when he reached Sirius’ ear. He pressed another kiss into the soft space behind it, feeling Sirius’ other hand instinctively slot into the dip of his back in reaction, like muscle memory.

“I thought I wasn’t allowed to touch you,” Remus murmured, ghosting his lips against the shell of Sirius’ ear.

Sirius choked on an incredulous laugh. Remus could feel his abdomen tremble with it beneath his palm. “How are you like this? Your wear old lady jumpers and your socks never match. It defies the laws of nature.”

Remus retaliated with a scrape of teeth and was rewarded with another one of Sirius’ rough, hitched breaths. “So we’re making fun of my clothes now?”

He teased a second finger under Sirius’ waistband, mouthing at the spot above his pulse point, the one that made Sirius throw his head back and scramble for purchase if he did it long enough.

“Yes,” Sirius said, practically a sigh as he— _there you go_ —tipped his head back to give Remus’ wandering lips more room. “They’re hideous. Take them off.”

“Ask nicely,” Remus told him, just to be a dick.

Sirius’ fingers twitched again around his wrist, nails digging into the sensitive skin. “Take your hideous clothes off, _please_.”

This time, when Remus tilted his head up to bring their lips together, Sirius did not let him pull away. He drew Remus in with a strong hand cupping the back of his neck and a hooked calf behind his knee. Not that Remus was planning on going anywhere—with the way Sirius was kissing him, filthy and wet and deep, fingers sliding into Remus’ hair and gripping it by the roots, spreading his legs wider in invitation, shamelessly grinding his hips against Remus’ thigh in an obvious attempt at distraction, so the hand resting low on his spine could sneak up his back and yank impatiently at the hem of shirt.

“Please,” Sirius whispered between kisses in a thin, needy voice that had Remus’ collar feeling too tight. A shift of Sirius’ hips, his leg hitching up higher and wrapping around Remus’ waist, heel digging into Remus’ back, and now he was riding Remus’ thigh in earnest, his own a hot press of dizzying friction. Sirius tugged harder at Remus’ shirt, and Remus might’ve worried it’d bust at the seams, if he’d had the brain capacity to process anything beyond the sting of Sirius’ teeth on his lower lip.

“Please,” Sirius repeated, lips quirking when Remus shivered violently at the word. He knew exactly what he was doing. “Please, please, please, please—”

“Stop,” Remus said as he abruptly sat back on his heels to pull the offending shirt off, arms a little shaky from the effort of holding himself up, breath even shakier from the buttery taste of Sirius’ tongue on his. He moved his hips as far away from Sirius’ as their position would allow, which was still too close, especially since Sirius just palmed his arse and tugged him in closer.

“Oh god,” Remus said, whiting-out a little, fumbling his hands onto Sirius’ hips to hold them still and _away_. “Stop. You have to stop or I’ll—”

He sucked in a breath, desperately willing away that premature tingling down his spine, the aching throb in his pants. If someone had told fourteen-year-old Remus that someday he’d have Sirius Black spread out beneath him, writhing beneath him, _begging_ for him to take his clothes off, his head would have exploded.

“So.” It was Sirius’ turn to smirk, far too composed for Remus’ liking. “Begging, huh?”

His eyes slowly drifted down Remus’ face and heaving chest, before pointedly settling below the belt and adding, “Trousers too… Please.”

“You’re a menace,” Remus said, holding back a groan, but he shucked them off without further complaint.

Sirius, never one to waste time, followed suit, stripping down to his pants. He looked up at Remus with a wicked, knowing smile when he caught him staring open-mouthed.

No matter how many times they did this—no matter how many hidden places Remus thoroughly explored on Sirius’ body—it still struck Remus dumb like the first. Sirius was the most attractive person Remus had ever seen. That wasn’t even a silly, lovesick exaggeration. It was fact. There was no competition. Sirius was objectively the most attractive. Definitely the most he attractive he would ever get to see like this, nearly naked and _his_.

 _And hopefully_ , his foolish heart cried, _the last_.

His bare skin was gilded by the dim lamplight, stretched out across lean, sinewy muscles that were more a product of a good metabolism and even better genetics than actual hard work. His back was arched, the flat planes of his stomach and chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. His slyly quirked lips were swollen red, and Remus itched to stick his fingers between them and feel their spit-slick slide.

He was a demon. He was an utter terror. He was all of Remus’ worst, most debauched fantasies come to life, but that wasn’t what stole his breath. That wasn’t what Remus saw when he closed his eyes at night, alone in his bedroom, and took himself in hand, the same name always on the tip of his tongue.

He saw Sirius: whose humor was dry and on just the right side of mean, who woke up half an hour early every morning to iron out the wrinkles in his shirt, who couldn’t read a book without skipping to the last few pages to check for a happy ending, who could cheer Remus up even from the worst mood and would only give him a little shit about it later, who was irrefutably, imperfectly beautiful inside and out, who could have anyone he wanted and for some bizarre, miraculous reason, had chosen Remus.

And Remus—

Remus was just happy to give himself to Sirius for as long as he’d have him.

Remus was on him in an instant, shoving Sirius back into the couch so hard Sirius grunted, and not in the fun way. But Sirius didn’t seem to care. He just let Remus kiss him and kiss him, until all his senses were narrowed down to the points of contact on their bodies.

And for a moment, everything was a glorious mess of skin against skin, lips against lips, Sirius arching under Remus’ touch, moaning like he was getting paid to do it when Remus finally managed to work a hand down Sirius’ pants and wrap his fingers around him, thumbing over the head of his dick.

Then two things happened at once.

One: Sirius said, quite loudly, _“_ Oh fuck _. Remus_.”

Two: the lock on the front door turned with a sharp click.

“Oh fuck,” Sirius said again, quieter this time, in rising panic. “Remus.”

Remus had just enough time to pull his hand out of Sirius’ pants and throw himself across the room before the door was swinging open and his parents were walking inside.

They stopped in the doorway, two travel bags slung over Lyall Lupin’s shoulders. Hope was carrying what suspiciously looked like a store-bought birthday cake in her arms. Both’s jaws were on the floor.

It would be funny, Sirius diving for his trousers while Remus’ parents watched on, wide-eyed, popcorn crunching beneath Remus’ feet, an episode of _The Great British Bake Off_ playing silently in the background.

It would be funny, if it weren’t for the look on Sirius’ face.

“Sirius,” Remus said, any worries about his parents forgotten as he tried to stop Sirius, who fished frantically around for his shirt, with a hand on his shoulder.

Sirius jerked away from the touch, like Remus had struck him, and that had Remus flinching back too, horrified at the reaction.

His gut churned, bile rising in his throat. Sirius had never done that before. Not when they were in public and it was just friendly, and certainly not when they were alone, when it was anything but. He’d lean into it, sink into it, for whatever length of time he was allowed—sometimes sinking so deep for so long Remus would forget there was ever a point in time where they weren’t touching and would feel hollow and lonely for hours after they’d come up for air.

“Sirius,” Remus tried again, trying to ignore the premonitory feeling of the world falling apart around him. “It’s okay. They won’t tell your parents.”

He wasn’t actually sure if that was true. But what else was he supposed to say, when Sirius was trembling like that and wouldn’t even look Remus in the eye?

“Tell him,” he said, finally addressing his shocked-silent parents. His voice cracked, but he pushed on. “Tell him you won’t.”

Lyall was the first to speak. He stepped further inside, so he could set their bags down and close the door against the quiet night air. “Of course we won’t,” he said, looking distraught that Remus had even felt the need to ask.

His father was a tall man, with at least a head on Remus, but had a tendency to shrink his shoulders when he was trying to look less imposing. Remus appreciated that extra bit of effort now more than ever.

Hope didn’t have to say anything. It was written there on her face, in the sympathetic furrow of her brow and the crinkling kindness in her eyes. “Oh honey,” she breathed.

“See?” Remus told Sirius, as Sirius tugged on his shirt, head ducked. “I told you. It’s fine. Just sit down for a second, okay? Let me—”

But Sirius wasn’t listening. There was that primal, deer-in-headlights look on his face, and his eyes were zeroing in on the now closed door.

“I’ll see you at school,” Sirius said, grabbing his discarded socks and shoes from the edge of the carpet and toeing them on, showing no signs of stopping.

“Sirius, wait,” Remus begged.

Sirius did not wait. He hurried out the living room, to the foyer, footsteps stuttering nervously as he passed Remus’ parents.

Remus’ heart lodged in his throat. He’d heard plenty renditions of the classic _my parents walked in on me_ story, but this didn’t feel like one of those. It didn’t feel like something they could laugh about years later, over the dinner table with their friends.

It felt strangely like, as Sirius left through that door, he was never coming back through it.

The door slammed behind him, rattling in its frame.

Remus said nothing. His parents said nothing. Sirius was gone.

Remus wrapped him arms around himself, feeling horribly exposed, but he didn’t want to look for his clothes and risk turning away from the threshold yet, just in case Sirius changed his mind.

“What happened to two weeks?” Remus asked, unable to keep the bite from his words. If he had known—If they have just told him—

“Your mother wasn’t feeling well,” Lyall replied calmly. He was always so calm, even when he was angry. “We thought we’d come home early and surprise you.”

Unfortunately, Remus had inherited his mother’s short temper.

“Mission accomplished,” Remus spat. “Consider me surprised.”

“Remus,” Hope began. “We should talk about what—”

“I don’t want to talk,” Remus said, blinking away tears. He was an angry crier. It was one of his least favorite things about himself. “Just turn around so I can,” he gestured helplessly to his clothes, “and leave me alone.”

Three years later, they would learn that the sudden bought of illness that brought Hope home—which would progress into a never-ending stream of headaches, dizziness, nausea, confusion, blurred vision, muscle weakness—was actually an inoperable brain tumor. She would fight it for months and refuse to let Remus take the year off from school. She would die at home, peacefully in her bed, over Christmas holiday, four days after Remus arrived, like she’d been waiting just for him.

But Remus didn’t know that right now. Right now, he was angry and humiliated and scared he’d lost Sirius for good over something so unimportant, really, in the scheme of things. It shouldn’t have to be this way. He shouldn’t have to feel this way. Who fucking cared if his parents knew? Who fucking cared if everyone knew? It’d be worth it, all of it, if it meant he could kiss Sirius on his couch in his own home and not have it ruin everything.

As soon as he managed to slip on his clothes, he made a beeline for the staircase, ignoring his parents as they called after him, and locked himself inside his room for the rest of the night.

He fell asleep like that: phone in hand in case Sirius called, the smell of Sirius on his pillowcase, his head thrumming with a quiet hope that he’d be wrong, that Sirius would come back after all.

* * *

“Remus?” Tonks asked, just on the brink of wakefulness, as Remus slipped an arm around their waist and buried his face in their magenta hair. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Remus said, closing his eyes. “Go back to sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! Thanks everyone for reading, reviewing, giving kudos, bookmarking! I love hearing from all of you. :)


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